People often ask me what I do all day. I often wonder that myself. Preloved clothes do not appear on my doorstep as if by magic, nor are they sorted, steamed, washed, priced and logged into a rapidly filling book. Did you know that preloved clothes have a habit of mushrooming until your entire house resembles a laundry? Despite my Mother in Law having an abundance of space for storage I am still surrounded, some days I feel engulfed by them all.
But less of that. I awake when the alarm goes off, usually about 6.30am although why it has to be set so early is beyond me. I lie as still as I can so that my husband thinks I am still asleep and feels compelled to go and make the tea. We have a teas-maid but it has been consigned to the attic, 'when I feel we are at that stage' I say sternly to him, 'then, and only then, can it come down'. What stage that will be is anyone's guess but they bring out the worst in me, everything I hate about 'sensible, practical, dreary beyond belief' sort of emotions.
This morning its the 'You Must Create (YMC) London culottes I pick to wear. One of my many items from my 'I think I'll buy these' collection. I hadn't heard of the label but I know a well cut pair of jeans when I see them and with an eye watering price tag on them originally I felt £60 was a sound investment. A pair of soft leather knee high Italian boots and a navy cashmere jumper will do today. To my mind you can't beat a classic piece of cashmere as a sound investment and a staple item in your winter wardrobe. I've had some absolute beauties this season, utter bargains with a price tag of £35 and under. Except for the Nicole Fahri cashmere pullover but then the softness of that is something else... Resist resist.
At the moment its all seasonal velvet's in rich hues. Ruby reds, dark Indigo, burnt umber, raven black, absolutely yummy. Little black party dresses jostling for the limelight, twinkly pieces of costume jewellery that set an outfit alight. And the sheer beauty of all this is that it is preloved. Relove prelove as the slogan goes. No need to feel weighed down with guilt about buying fast fashion, most of it ending up in unnecessary landfill as we all know. Buying second hand is all terribly
de rigueur nowadays. Not only are you creating your own individual look but you are positively helping the planet by your recycling ethic. Nobody is telling or asking you to buy everything preloved but surely sparing a thought as to where your clothing is originating from can't be a bad thing.
I have porridge or a boiled egg for breakfast. I am a creature of habit in that respect. After two cups of tea I am ready for coffee. I look at my social networking efforts. Isn't Instagram satisfying yet terribly addictive at the same time? It used to be blogging and twitter for me with a dollop of Facebook thrown in for good measure. Oh, and Pinterest. Exhausting.
I go into my office (the front parlour). I love this room. South facing with a working fireplace, a large leather topped desk (the recycling centre one Christmas) and a welsh dresser painted a rather fetching green. I will only allow blue and white china to be displayed on it. An antique clock that belonged to my parents and reminds me of my childhood home ticks reassuringly in the background. On the mantle is the only mirror I managed to rescue from France. It will always be a bone of contention that a greedy notaire snaffled the lot. If you've read
the book you would understand.
C'est la vie.
I have a notice on my desk. 'A smile is the prettiest thing you can wear'. How true is that? Because I am right on South Street in the centre of Bridport, hence the name
South Street Sally, people distract me as they go past. Everyday the model in the window wears a new outfit. I sometimes wonder if anyone notices. Today she has a silk wrap around dress with a scattering of stars and circles. I changed the green velvet curtains for red as its Christmas with plush gold tie backs. In the window lies a gold cherub. I admit to changing curtains rather a lot especially when the seasons change. I think its normal but my husband begs to differ.
Once I've gazed at the latest batch of clothes I'll phone my Mother. There will have been a wash put on earlier and I have a moan about the state of the shed where the washing machine is. Having dramatically downsized I feel the limitations of a small property keenly, especially running a business from home too.Once I have had a gossip I put the kettle on again. I drift out into the garden and peg washing on the line. You cant go far wrong with a short cold wash. I never buy anything that goes to the dry cleaners. I live in a terraced house and if the weathers fine the neighbours will be out pottering in their gardens. I'd never experienced the joys of chatting over a neighbouring fence before.
It's nearly 11 and the morning is galloping ahead. I refuse to be drawn into the daily chore of cleaning. 'I'm not a housewife' I remind my husband as he bounds off to work. He's an undertaker so the conversation at breakfast can be sobering at the best of times. Radio 4 is always on but its so biased these days I usually turn it off as soon as he departs. I'm a fan of silence. Invariably I guiltily sweep the kitchen floor and inwardly curse.
Back to the clothes and the business. Since August this year I've taken on over 700 items. It sounds quite ridiculous but I get annoyed if I can't recall them all. I keep a very keen eye on how much brands go for on the internet. People will call and tell me they have 'a few clothes' they have cleared out. 'All in pristine condition'. This isn't always entirely true... I do come across terribly interesting items though along with some fascinating people. Scratch the surface and lives unfurl in front of you. Sometimes peoples stories can be quite sad, I like to feel I have the ability to listen and empathise.
I'm currently preparing for another 'pop up' event. I've done two already and although its hard work I'm lucky enough to have a heavenly venue close by. Awareness through marketing is crucial so because I'm a 'one man band' I labour away daily at this. For my Christmas Instagram I found a luscious Liberty advent calendar with tiny drawers. My brainwave was to have an item a day cleverly popping out, with the devious intent obviously of selling it. There's been a Vivienne Westwood watch, a silver and marcasite brooch, Samuel Windsor belt, Silk Richard Allan scarf, Frederick Theak bow tie...
Go and have a peek.
Once I'm bored of labelling or sorting or whatever I need to go shopping. Lunch will have been a salad of sorts. I admit to a mince pie today too. I never have time to meet friends for lunch or coffee, is this bad time management or am I simply too busy? It seems to fall on me to decide what to have for supper.
I trip over a large bag of vintage mohair jumpers which jolts a memory from long ago. I had one once, it was a Christmas present from the man I later married and who fathered my children. He got the colours wrong and I got him wrong, way back in time, the 80's in fact. I sat on a stone on a wild beach in Ireland with my whole life ahead of me. Now I'm looking at a pile of them and a large percentage of my life is behind me. Wow.
I shake my head and set off with the amusing thought that I am now vintage. I haven't bought the washing in so that will go damp. It's mid afternoon now and the light is fading. I go and visit my Mother for a cup of tea.
Later on when my husband has arrived back from work we catch up on the days events. Death and second hand clothes, what an odd mixture.
It dawns on me that Christmas is fast approaching and the days are trickling alarmingly by.
I drift towards my computer, the fire is lit in the front room and sometimes people stop and peer in. I need to run a Facebook competition, the last one was so successful. Nearby lies a tempting bar of Green & Blacks organic sea salt chocolate.
Work is never far from my thoughts.
From December 19th-23rd I shall be at The Old Pottery, Manor Yard,
Symondsbury Estate, Dorset.
